


Work of Art

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Body Paint, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: feuilly/grantaire, body painting?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work of Art

Feuilly had always liked paint. He liked to see the strokes, rhythmic, calming, that went into painting a wall or a piece of furniture, and he liked even more so the subtler strokes necessary for painting on canvas.

Jehan painted often, and occasionally he was lucky enough to see Grantaire paint too, but this was rare and usually accompanied with much cajoling from the artist to be left alone.

Today, Grantaire did not request Feuilly leave him alone, for the workingman was his canvas. 

Grantaire’s strokes were careful as he painted, painting the French flag across his chest, his left nipple turned into the top of a flag pole. Feuilly had thought this would be simple when he agreed to assist, but he had never considered the feeling of the brush on his skin, cool but pleasant, almost tickling. 

Feuilly was naked, spread out on the table, and where Grantaire was leaning over him his lips were pressed together, his brow furrowed, his entire face betraying immense concentration. Feuilly let out a soft, short sound, and closed his eyes.

His cock was half-hard between his legs, but Grantaire mercifully made no comment and paid it no need as he began to paint down Feuilly’s thighs. He’d no idea what motif Grantaire was painting now: he’d look when Grantaire was finished.

And then, God damn him, Grantaire began to brush with a softer, smaller brush, over his cock. “ _Grantaire_ -“

"Don’t move, Feuilly." Grantaire said, and Feuilly knew he was teasing, knew that tone, but he grasped at the edges of the table, dropping his head back and letting out choked little sounds.

"By God." 

"Pardieu?" Grantaire grins at him as Feuilly opens his eyes, and he takes a black paint to paint the words across Feuilly’s stomach as he tries not to writhe. 

"Touch my cock."

"You just told me not to."

“ _Grantaire_.” Feuilly growls, and Grantaire laughs at him, dips and presses a kiss to his lips as he drags two fingers up the underside of it. 

"Can’t do more than this. It’ll smudge the paint."

"You  _bastard_.”

"That’s me."


End file.
